Cold As Ice
by DanieWinchester
Summary: Dean and Sam have faced many inexplicable entities from years of hunting but none as aggravating as Billie Stewart a mysterious woman with a tormented past and a terrible secret.
1. Chapter 1

**COLD AS ICE**

**Authors: **DanieWinchester RatedR** Genre: **General** Archive: **Sure, why not

**Summery**: Dean and Sam have faced many inexplicable entities from years of hunting but none as aggravating as Billie Stewart a mysterious woman with a tormented past and a terrible secret. While combating a murderous succubus the Winchesters must determine whether Billie is friend or foe before it's too late for all of them.

**Disclaimer**: Since Kripke has caused us so much torment over the past year it is this author's opinion that he owes us some ownership of Supernatural, or at least some entrance into Jensen Ackles's pants but sadly he does not seem to share my view. I do not own any of the original plot or characters, all new characters and original plot you can chalk up to this crazy brain of mine. The songs are copy written to their respective owners, I neither wrote nor performed nothing, unless you ask my steering wheel microphone, I can rock a car. No infringement intended. In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida Baby.

**CHAPTER ONE**

_She keeps Moet et Chandon  
In her pretty cabinet  
'Let them eat cake' she says  
Just like Marie Antoinette  
A built-in remedy   
For Khrushchev and Kennedy  
At anytime an invitation  
You can't decline_

Caviar and cigarettes  
Well versed in etiquette  
Extraordinarily nice

She's a Killer Queen   
Gunpowder, gelatine  
Dynamite with a laser beam  
Guaranteed to blow your mind  
Anytime

Recommended at the price   
Insatiable an appetite  
Wanna try?

A large mug slammed down on the counter of Deterioration a dive bar which definitely lived up to its name. The glass made a resounding thud of success and joined a formation of its recently emptied brethren which made a less than straight line. The crowds cheered loudly as Bryan Davis grabbed the next mug. At thirty one years old Bryan wasn't quite sure why he kept chugging the beers, in fact he couldn't even remember how he had been suckered into a drinking competition with two twenty-something barflies but here he was on a roll and on his eleventh drink. The liquid was beginning to sting his throat as it went down and he was beginning to grow queasy. He wasn't about to allow the punks to beat him though, they may be younger and more enthusiastic, but he, he had experience. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the smaller one go down. Now it was just between him and the taller one. He picked up the last mug from the bar counter he could feel the amber liquid creeping back up his throat but he knew that the kid was worse off. He tipped the glass to his lips and began to drink. The kid did the same slowly. As Bryan drank, he was dribbling horribly on his shirt but he wasn't going to give up.

Bryan Davis had often been referred to as a "loser" in most conversations. Middle aged and single, Bryan had held a steady career as the manager of a Java Stop for the past ten years. He honestly did like his job and not many people could understand that, choosing instead to decide that Davis never truly made anything of his life. He was sure that his parents were embarrassed of his life choices. During holiday dinners his mother would always introduce his brother the doctor, his sister the Hollywood makeup artist, and Bryan who was in "management" but had "big plans." He often wished that one day his mother would understand that not everyone aspires to greatness; some are just content with a life of mediocrity. Of course, mediocrity didn't exactly endear you to those around you. Being the older manager of a Java Stop didn't make befriending co-workers easy or even possible; in fact on this particular night he had invited his employees who were college students in their early twenties to join him for a drink at the bar. No one had showed up. It didn't bother Bryan though he was used to it by now.

By now his competitor finished the beer that drew him even with Bryan and glared at his opponent as if daring him to drink another. Bryan eyed the mug that the bartender has slid onto the counter, he picked it up and the other man did the same with his glass, it was now a Mexican showdown. Who could drink the last beer? The man gave a sigh and put the beer back on the counter in defeat. Bryan grinned, raising his mug in a salute. _To mediocrity_ he thought and promptly downed the liquid.

The cheering was loud but fleeting soon the patrons grew bored of the spectacle and returned to whatever they had been doing before the interruption. Bryan settled down in a barstool and attempted to collect himself. He had knocked back thirteen beers from the tap and the alcohol was starting to cause a foggy feeling in his head which was sure to be followed in the morning by a pounding hangover from hell. Bryan wasn't quite sure what to do now. After his crushing defeat of the bar boys, which had won him seventy bucks he wasn't going to go home. After all, to the rest of the patrons he was a champion, a blue collar hero. That had to be worth something. However, Bryan wasn't too keen on ingesting anymore alcohol considering his liver was probably already suffering for this little stunt. _But what could a man do at a bar that didn't involve drinking? _He raked his fingers over the strike plate of the bar matchbook he picked up on the way in and spun on his barstool away from the counter and towards- the most perfect breasts he had ever seen. Round and perky they were nestled into a couple of pieces of leather strips that Paris Hilton would call a shirt and his mother would call exploitation and sin.

Bryan Davis tore his eyes away from the cleavage and traveled up towards the woman's face. She was beautiful; Bryan placed her at late twenties with her long black hair and sparkling blue eyes. The woman was pale but not in a sickly gothic way the younger generation had begun to venerate, but luminous and ethereal.

"That was impressive." She didn't just speak the words; they seemed to drip from her ruby red lips. It was as if the rest of the world disappeared.

Bryan didn't really know what to say. He did decide that what ever it is must be smooth and confident.

"Du-yah, you lie-kit?" he stuttered.

"What?" Came the woman's confused response.

"Did you like that?" He repeated clearer.

_Real smooth man_, he mentally chastised. It didn't seem to faze the woman though. She gave a quiet giggle and continued.

"My name is Lilith." She offered out her hand.

Bryan still gaping at the woman's beauty just stared at it.

Lilith smirked.

"You know, where I am from, you shake the hand." She motioned towards her outstretched hand.

Bryan snapped out of his daze and quickly thrust out his hand to meet hers.

"Uh, oh, right, sorry, Bryan." He stopped, "I mean- I'm Bryan, not that you are Bryan."

"I got that." She remarked slightly sarcastic.

"Oh right." Bryan was striking out bad here but the woman didn't seem to notice.

She just kept his gaze, eyes transfixed.

"Bryan."

"Yes?"

"Do you want to get out of here?"

Had he just hallucinated that? He couldn't have.

"Oh, god yes!"

Bryan wasn't quite sure what he was doing as the woman led him out the front door of the bar. In fact, he often attempted to deter the few friends he had from going home with women they met in bars. After all, you are never sure where they have been. For all you know they could be psycho serial killers but it was as if Bryan's body was on autopilot. He could think of nothing but Lilith and how much he wanted to touch her, to taste her. Woman like this did not hook up with men like him, this could quite possibly be the letter to Penthouse he had waited for his entire life. If there happened to be a busload of cheerleaders in the parking Bryan would probably die right then and there.

Bryan Davis had never been so happy about the fact that his apartment was only three blocks away then he was that particular evening. Lilith traced kisses down his neck as he fumbled with the door handle. He was too busy returning the attention to look down at the lock merely attempting feel the lock out with the key. Eventually he managed to get his front door open and the couple pushed their way in. The door slammed behind them. Bryan didn't want to be presumptuous and begin disrobing the woman (even though by this point no one could blame him) luckily the woman decided to take charge of the situation

The woman pulled the straps which bound the top around her neck and it fell to the floor. Without warning in a forceful move Lilith pushed Brian to the floor and pinned him down with her body. He would have protested that his bedroom was only three feet away but his body soon erupted into pleasure like that he had never felt before and all other thoughts melted away. The sex was amazing as the two moved in one fluid rhythm and best of all Bryan didn't have to any work he simply left it to Lilith who seemed more than willing to control the situation. He just looked deep into her crystal blue eyes. She was smiling but it wasn't the kind of smile of pleasure he expected it was cold, calculating, it just didn't hit him right. Bryan Davis could never have anticipated what happened next. Lilith's sparkling eyes clouded over with a murky cloud turning them a soulless black.

There was second explosion not the scintillating sexual pleasure from before but that of agonizing pain the likes of which he had never previously felt it washed over his body.

Lilith, more monster than woman now, dug her long nails deep into his skin ripping down the soft flesh. Bryan attempted to return the action with a scream of pain but it was muffled as the creature leaned down over his mouth she began to inhale drawing out a glowing stream of light from deep inside his mutilated body. Bryan's body writhed and contorted with pain- the last thing he remembered was the sounds of Queen's _Killer Queen_ the ring tone on his cell. His stupid brother had reprogrammed the mobile to the song as a prank one night. The irony of this situation was lost on Bryan as he faded into the darkness. Slowly and painfully Bryan Davis stopped breathing.

**THREE DAYS LATER**

Samuel Winchester was a god. There was nothing else to say about it. He was a god and all others were mere mortals in his presence. He lifted the tiny wooden tiles from their tray and laid them down one at a time. Each separate tile made a soft click as it was placed. He then leaned back to survey his work. "Q, U, I, X, O, T, I, C, quixotic, and that's as triple word score meaning that it is worth, " he did the multiplication quickly in his head, "78 points." Sam smirked at the look on his brother's face.

Dean Winchester's eyebrows furrowed in disbelief. Was quixotic even a word? When his little brother suggested they forgo their usual evening bouncing from bar to bar in favor of a trip to the local Java Stop Dean had been less thrilled. However, Sammy had taken a break from his scheduled binge brooding and staring out rainy windows to suggest the brothers try something different this particular evening and Dean couldn't refuse. Dean had always had trouble turning down his brother's requests even the stupid ones but in this case he should have tried harder. He had once heard a rumor that cafes do not sell alcohol so after one o'clock in the afternoon they were thus dead to him. Don't get him wrong Dean like coffee, he liked coffee a lot, if wasn't for coffee he probably wouldn't get out of bed in the morning, however he could never understand what compelled a person to hang out in a café. When ordering coffee Dean was an in and out sort of guy, if the particular joint had a drive through it was an early Christmas. Cafés were not places you'd expect to find a party, a group of high school students doing a late night cram fest maybe, a woman's lit club coming together to talk about reading Bridget Jones' Diary and how much they hated men definitely, but not a way to spend a Friday night. Which is why he was beginning to question whether he and his brother were even related, it made him think of how he used to tell his brother he was adopted and their father found in an old tire in an abandoned field near their house just to upset him and make him cry. Those were good times. Of course, at that point in time and his brother was shorter than him and hit like girl. At least he still hit like a girl.

Dean was further put out when Sammy suggested a game of Scrabble while waiting for their drinks. He wasn't a Scrabble man in fact he wasn't any kind of game man unless the game involved darts or a billiards table. Well, except for that game of strip poker that one time at that one sorority and well he was really drunk that night.

A heavy sigh of defeat escaped the young mans lips as he rubbed a hand over his chin in meditation. He finally decided on a plan of attack. He lay his tiles down on the board and leaned back into the oversized arm chair.

"C, O, A, T, coat," Dean glanced up at Sam; his sibling's normally stoic face was dancing with amusement. "Shut up man we can't all be freaking Scrabble champs."

Dean was well aware that his brother hadn't actually said anything but at the moment everything about Sam bugged him. The fact that Sam had dragged his ass out of a nice comfortable motel room to some nerdy café, that fact that he felt obligated to make his brother happy by agreeing, and that Sam was kicking his ass at Scrabble.

Dean was going to berate Sam further but was interrupted by a shout from the barista.

"I've got a large caramel macchiato for Sam and a medium black coffee for Dane."

Sam snorted and giggled. Giggled like a ten year old girl. That was it Dean had lost all respect for his brother the tire kid.

"I'll get those _Dane_." Sam said rising, but Dean stopped him.

"No, no, I got it," Dean rose, and roughly knocked his shoulder into his brother's while passing. He needed to get away from his brother and more importantly that Scrabble board before he shot someone.

He walked slowly; his jeans had begun to stick to his thighs and his _crotchital_ region he readjusted in one swift move. He noticed a disapproving glance from a black haired girl in the corner who with her think rimmed glasses and unreasonably pale skin looked like a vampire librarian. He shot back a look of _what I'm a guy_. She shot back a look that read if I wasn't overweight, covered in acne and fifteen I would skin you and drink your blood while sacrificing your genitals to the goddess. Dean rolled his eyes.

It Dean took the seven steps to the counter to officially decide that he was in hell. This was hell and it was attended to by demons. Demons which took the form of twenty-somethings that dressed head to toe in _Hot Topic_ or _American Eagle_, ordered ridiculously overpriced coffee, discussed world politics and episodes of Buffy, shared his brother's awful taste in haircuts, and probably never got laid.

At twenty seven and actually cool, Dean did could not see himself fitting into this world, he preferred his Floyd shirt to polo tees. He wanted to be drinking a beer not his breakfast, and he had no idea what the hell a _hollerback girl_ was but he was quite sure he wasn't one.

Without warning, something light but firm hit Dean square in the head. It had fallen from the sky. He looked down at the floor and seethed at the piece of crumpled notebook paper that had rained down on him. He turned back at a group of college kids who were horsing around in the corner. One of the girls gave him an apologetic glance as she attempted to wrestle a notebook away from her boyfriend and his friend. Dean just shook his head and breathed slowly to control his rage.

It was that time Dean noticed the double doors of the Java Stop fly open with some force. With them a woman strode confidently into the coffee shop. She was not necessarily gorgeous by conventional standards. She was not some half plastic, fake blonde, in a crop top like most of the woman Dean noticed. In fact, she was quite the opposite. Thin but solid, the woman looked as if she had lifted some weights in the past and could probably handle herself in a fight. Her dark brown hair was short, cropped to chin with the just the right amount of razored layers to make it look edgy. Instead of the pound of black eyeliner most women wore to make themselves look tough her face was almost completely bare of makeup and she was sporting tight dark jeans (that hugged her toned legs), a grey Led Zeppelin shirt, black motorcycle boots, and a black leather jacket.

Maybe it was his current company but this woman was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. Perhaps, this was Dean's night after all. The woman glanced in his direction and he threw her a coy smile. She reciprocated with what could almost be considered a smile if more then the corners of her full rounded lips turned up. It was better then nothing he supposed.

"Come on man hurry up." It was brother's voice snapped Dean back to the present.

Sam was gesturing impatiently to the caramel macchiato and black coffee which still rested on the counter waiting for him to retrieve them. Dean gave another record setting sigh and pushed all other thoughts out of his head (including those about his future wife in the Led Zeppelin shirt who had already made her way to the line of people waiting to order) gathered the beverages and moved to return to the Scrabble Game of Doom as he now chose to refer to it. That was when a large sign resting on the counter caught his eye. On a small piece of poster board a large glossy photo, which had been blown out from enlargement, was taped to the center. On it a slight smiling man bedecked in a Java Stop uniform stared back at Dean. Large letters reading Rest in Peace Bryan framed the photo. By this point the barista had noticed Dean take an interest in the poster.

"We're taking donations for his family if you're interested." The girl was cute, it was really the only way to describe her, cute women like this were generally suckers and given the opportunity Dean would normally hit on a girl like this but her voice was a total deal breaker. Like nails on a chalkboard it was.

"What do you mean?" Dean asked automatically.

"Well," the cute blonde with the cat screech of a voice continued, "Its just awful what happened him getting all torn up like that, his family is taking up collections to help pay for the funeral costs."

"Torn up?" Now Dean was interested. Maybe he would get out of this evening after all.

"Yeah, he was found in his apartment in pieces, the cops are saying it was like he like got attacked by a wild animal or something." The barista continued. "Which is totally, like the weirdest thing because they said his door was locked from the inside, plus how many wild animals do you find in a second story apartment?"

"Not many." Dean admitted softly. The wheels in his brain were turning.

"Its got me like totally freaked out now, I mean what if something gets into my place and like tries to eat me. It's a pity I don't have a strong man there to protect me." She said with a slight pout.

The girl was putting out the vibe, but Dean feigned obliviousness he really couldn't care less. He just might have found his way out of this evening and might have found something to shoot at to boot. He collected the coffees and turned to go, nearly crashing into his brother who apparently was fed up with waiting.

"Dude, what's the hold up?"

Dean smiled at his brother,

"Maya here," he explained glancing at the girl's name tag, "Was telling me about this poor guy who got mauled by a wild animal."

Sam's expression did a one-eighty into a look of undying concern (so, the normal state of Sam's face).

"Oh, I am so sorry, was he camping?"

"No." Dean attempted to keep the excited from his voice. "He was mauled in his apartment- his locked, second story apartment."

Dean and Sam shared a look of knowing.

"Oh that's too bad."

"Yeah, I know," The girl turned her vibe towards the younger brother. "It's like so tragic."

Neither brother was taking the bait. She was just another added to the list of women spurned by the Winchester brothers.

"Hey what was that guy's last name?" He inquired from the girl.

"Davis." She answered. "Bryan Davis."

"Bryan Davis," Sam read aloud from his laptop as the boys pulled up to the row of apartments. "Thirty-one, single, manager for Java Stop, was found eviscerated in his second story apartment three nights ago. Apparently this is the third _wild animal_ attack of the sort in the past ten months. It has authorities baffled."

"Yeah, color me surprised." Dean quipped looking up at the window of the second story apartment.

It felt nice to be back in his car, a full restored 1967 Chevy Impala they didn't quite make them like that anymore. In fact, Dean often wondered how a car so perfect and so awe inspiring could become so ugly in the past forty-years. The newer model Impala's didn't have style, didn't have grace. They looked like every other car on the road. Then again most people operating vehicles lacked the style and grace necessary to pilot such a worthy vessel. It reminded Dean of the last time he had stopped to get gas, he went into the station to stock up on provisions to overhear the gas station attended commenting on his pride and joy.

"You know I had an Im-pal-a once." The attended admitted in a Southern dialect. The word caused Dean to actually cringe. Im-pal-a as if he had a pal named _Im_. It was wrong. Dean felt like screaming "Impala! IM-PAW-LA! Say it wrong again and I will break your fucking fingers!"

Instead he kept it to himself (after all he was a wanted man) and regaled his brother on the idiocracy they were forced to cohabitate this particular planet with. However, this had absolutely nothing to do with the mission at hand. Sam and Dean had a short conversation about how exactly to get into the apartment without raising too much suspicion. Being that the hour was nearing midnight the boys deduced that there would be no disguise warranting a visit to an active crime scene at the hour and concluded that this would be a sneak and stealth mission.

Sam was the first to swing open his door and unfolded himself from the passenger seat. His brother followed suit and the two met around back at the trunk. The trunk of the Impala was rather remarkable. The beauty of the older model vehicles were the massive amounts of trunk space. Sam was sure that in a pinch he and his brother could fit at least three dead bodies into the trunk- four if one happened to be a really short skinny guy. On top of that, Dean had retrofitted the trunk with secret compartments for hiding all the demon hunting gear that was sure to get you more than a ticket on a routine traffic stop.

Dean lifted the latch on the compartment. The boys were still currently working to replace the equipment that had lost to an unfortunate collision with a demonically possessed semi-driver a few months back. It was an event the two rarely talked about because it invariably involved the brothers discussing their father's untimely demise and Sam's supposed fate. They did however; replace the bulk of their implements. Shotguns lined the upper portion and hand guns underneath. Ammo, knives, and various talismans came next. Normally, this would be the point of the adventure where the boys would _mount up_, but for your standard sneak and creep a flashlight and a lock pick set would do.

As Dean slammed the trunk lid down he was sure he heard the crunch of a broken branches underfoot before its impact. He glanced around inquisitively to the source. The street was bordered by a small park. It was dark however, and the small playground was stationary except for the slight sway of the swings in the evening breeze. The presence of the park however did make a wild animal attack slightly more plausible, yet Dean was sure it was one his types of cases and even if it wasn't it got him out of that damn coffee house. He looked back down towards his pockets as he began shoving his flashlight deep in the folds of his leather jacket. Something shiny caught his eye. It was a quarter. Dean squatted down to retrieve the booty.

"Sweet!" He exclaimed brightly.

His brother gave him a perplexed look.

"What?"

"I found a quarter." Dean displayed the piece of money proudly.

Sam shook his head, "Dude, it's a quarter."

Dean's eyebrows lowered conspiratorially.

"You see a quarter, I see fifteen minutes with the magic fingers."

"You have a serious problem man." His brother chided towards Dean's recent addiction to vibrating beds.

"Says the _porn-boy_." Dean shot back. It was a low blow, he knew it, but he didn't really care.

"Can we just get on with this?" Sam stomped off frustrated.

Dean took point as the brothers ambled up the path towards to apartment.

It didn't take the two long to locate apartment 111 the one formally inhabited by the late Bryan Davis, it was the only one sporting bright yellow tape reading Crime Scene: Do Not Cross in thick black letters. Dean and Sam Winchester had never been good at following directions.

Oddly enough at least one cop pulled his head out of his ass long enough to lock the door to the apartment and it took Sam a few minutes to jimmy the rusty lock. Upon entering the abode the brothers were met with what Dean Winchester assumed a Tsunami-stricken third world country looked like, dirty clothes littered the floor, dishes were pile haphazardly in the sink, and everything smelled of decomposition.

To add insult to injury the entire contents of the room seemed to be soaked with blood. Blood which made large arcs of spatter on the walls like a morbid Jackson Pollock painting.

"Wow," escaped from the older Winchester's lips as he took in the scene, "This is impressive, looks like he could have used a little _Queer Eye for the Straight Guy_, this just screams _bachelor_."

Sam shot a look to his brother, "You watch Queer Eye?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, "I've flipped passed it."

Sam grinned, "I guess that explains your hair."

Deans grinned dropped.

"What wrong with my hair."

Sam decided not to respond and let him stew on it, he instead returned to surveying the scene.

There was a body shaped void in the blood where Bryan Davis must have fallen, Sam followed the blood trails up the walls with his eyes and drew his conclusions.

"Well, it looks to me like he was murdered here, this arc of blood right here (he pointed towards the wall in question), this is arterial blood most likely from the severing of the aorta." Sam deduced.

He glanced back towards Dean who had found a picture on the wall and was considering his reflection in it running his hand over the front part of his hair. Sam smirked to himself.

"Dean," he prompted.

Dean swung around towards him.

"Yeah, what… arterial spray?" Dean paused, "How do you know about arterial spray exactly?"

"I know a lot about a lot of things." Sam affirmed as if his brother had insulted him.

Dean chuckled, "Right and you didn't get it from that episode of CSI we caught last night. Man that red head is hot"

Sam smirked, "That doesn't matter, and all that matters is that I am right."

Dean moved swiftly and he was at his brother's side.

"Yeah, well, that's great for cops; do you see anything that makes this one of our cases?"

Sam made a circle and something caught his eye, something dark and black around the outer edges of the blood pool. He ran his finger through it and brought it up under his nose. It was rank, he quickly drew it back.

"Ugh." Sam shook the smell out his nostrils, "Sulfur, I'm thinking demon."

Dean nodded in agreement.

"Guess this is one of our cases."

Something else caught Sam's eye from underneath the glistening blood pool it had been discarded on the floor. He was about to point it out to his brother but was caught of guard by a low growl.

"Wow, bro, maybe you should eat something." He remarked looking up at Dean.

Dean had turned back a perplexed look on his face.

"What do you mean?"

Sam cocked an eyebrow. "Your stomach is growling."

Dean shook his head, "Wasn't me man."

Maybe Sam had been imagining things. Sam put it out of his mind and reached a hand into the blood and withdrew what was left of a soggy matchbook. He could barely make out the name of the bar on the cover.

"Dean, look at this."

The elder Winchester joined his little brother in a squat position and took in the matchbook.

"Hmm, looks like a bar matchbook, considering its sopping up blood Bryan probably dropped it during the attack. The demon may have followed him home from there, or hell maybe he picked it up" Dean reasoned.

Sam nodded at his brother's logic.

"Hope she was hot." Dean said with a slow shake of his head added, "Hope she was a she."

He then took one last glance around the room. "What time is it?"

Sam looked down at his watch then back to Dean.

"Almost one-o'clock..."

Dean grinned.

"Just in time for last call," Things were finally going Dean's way.

The brother's left as quietly as they came. As the door clicked shut they probably would have been knocked on their asses by the form of a large grey wolf that entered the room from the hallway. It slinked towards the blood pool that the brothers had retrieved all their clues from and gave it a sniff. It then glanced up at the door with it eyes, those soulless black eyes. It wanted the boys, both had been strong healthy and beautiful, a feast befitting royalty. It wanted to play with them, to taste their flesh. Tear them limb from limb, but it had stopped.

There was a whistling on the wind… a call… her call. It let out a deep and violent growl at it, displeased with being beckoned. He would return to her. His master, for now…


	2. Chapter 2

Authors Note: Hope everyone enjoyed the first chapter. I had too much fun writing it (honestly, I did, Ty2 couldn't stop laughing at "binge brooding" to which I quipped "It's an insult and alliteration, it insulteration!), but now things get more serious and mostly silly as we introduce some very important characters. So, sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

**CHAPTER TWO**

_Reoccurring symptoms  
Answer the baleful howl  
Bringing me dreams of darkness  
The doer of all that's foul  
Raping the minds of infants  
Sower of unplanted seeds  
Full moon warrior  
Doer of sordid deeds_

Witch Wolf  
Night Rider  
Why do you call for me?

Thirteenth hour madman  
Bringing my soul to fire  
Visions of my sweet Beulah  
To torment soon retire

Witch Wolf  
Night Rider  
Why do you call for me?

Got my one-way ticket  
on this hell bound train  
I can't seem to stop falling  
I bear the wrath of Cain

Witch Wolf  
Night Rider  
Why do you call for me?

It didn't take the Winchester's long to find Deterioration. Sam was proudly able to make out a few numbers of the address on the matchbook but in the end it was Dean's call to 411 Assistance that gave the boys their heading.

The bar was dark, dank, and smelled of Jack Daniels, cheap perfume, and sweat. A pool table in the back had gathered a small but dangerous looking crowd around it who were loudly discussing a dispute over the legitimacy of the last game (and the sizable pot the men had been playing for). A few patrons sat at the bar ordering their next rounds and a group of women giggled loudly from a corner booth.

Dean Winchester was home.

Sammy had hurriedly walked towards the door, a look of determination on his face.

"Whoa, whoa," Dean placed a hand on his little brother's chest, "Easy turbo. Calm down, grab a booth, we need to case the place."

"Why?"

"Because the demon might still be here," Dean tilted his head towards a booth,

Sam glanced in the direction that Dean implied.

"Well, if the demon is here we would be stupid to split up." Sam reasoned.

"Why couldn't you have taken a vow of silence rather then a vow of celibacy?" Dean shook his head in disapproval

"I didn't take a vow of celibacy." Sam pouted.

"Could of have fooled me," Dean quipped. "Just sit down; shut up, I'll get the beer."

Sam begrudgingly marched back into a booth on the left side of the room.

With a small skip of pleasure Dean pushed his way to the front of the bar and into the direct line of sight of the bartender. She gave him a smile. A similar smile spread across Dean's face, the night was finally going his way.

Sam was annoyed by his brother's hasty departure and his brother's implications at his love life. It wasn't that Sam didn't think about things like romance but his lifestyle wasn't exactly conducive to a healthy relationship. Plus, even though it had been over a year the scars of Jessica's death were still fresh in his mind. Now his father's death and the possibility of him _going over the dark side_ didn't exactly leave him feeling frisky. Unlike his brother who could be on the verge of death and would still hit on anything that moved.

Sam flopped himself into a corner booth which gave a loud creak of displeasure, he then folded his arms in an outward symbol of his disapproval. Not surprisingly Dean's short attention span had gotten the best of him and instead of bringing the two bottles of Miller Light so they could get down to business he was putting the moves on a barmaid.

Sam grew continually perplexed at how his brother's outdated pickup lines and frat house mentality continued to make the women folk swoon. Sam sighed loudly; he decided to use his brother's absence to do a little research. He withdrew his laptop from his messenger bag (or as Dean liked to call it, his _man purse_) lifted the top and powered it up. By some miracle of technology it connected to an internet source and with a few keystrokes Sam's browser opened to his home page a common search engine. Maybe he would look over the crime scene photos the cops took one more time.

"Boy you look like a party animal."

The voice was unfamiliar, close, and female. Sam's head snapped up. A pretty young woman stood to the side of the booth addressing him.

"What?" Sam's smooth reply.

She smiled, "Sorry, you just look, well a little out of place."

Sam gave a small shrug in return.

"I guess you could say that."

He gave the woman a once over. She was pretty, very pretty; slim with delicate features and short brown hair. With her jeans and motorcycle boots she definitely fit the decorum better then Sam's own faded hoodie. She had a better figure then any other women in the bar but instead of displaying her attributes prominently with some low cut tank top she wore a fitted Led Zeppelin tee. Even though the woman seemed to have raided his brother's closet there was something about her. Sam couldn't place what but it had some familiarity to it.

"So, what's a guy like you doing in a place like this," she asked placing her hands in her pockets, "That's a little cliché isn't it?."

She said it quickly as if catching the remedial nature of her dialogue and trying to play it cool. It was cute.

Sam smiled.

"I'm here with my brother, he was supposed to get the drinks but he seems to have gotten a little distracted." He told her gesturing towards Dean's general direction.

She followed the motion with her eyes, and then turned back to Sam.

"Ah." She nodded in agreement.

"And you?"

The woman rolled back on her heels, "Well, I was supposed to meet my friend here, she just broke up with her boyfriend and swore up and down that if she didn't get drunk she'd slit her wrists in the bathtub. She's very dramatic, actually, a little too dramatic. So, I finally agreed to meet her at this (she paused and looked around) cesspool, and I show up, then she has the audacity to call and tell me that she and Henry are getting back together and she can't make it due to all the hot and steamy sex and here I am probably catching an STD just standing here."

Sam snorted in surprise. Not exactly the response he expected to elicit and the way she said it so matter-of-factly. That was adorable. If she kept up Sam was going to run out of mental synonyms for the word cute.

"So," the brunette continued, "I figure what the hell I'm here I'm going to play a song on the jukebox and chat with the cute guy in the booth- that's you by the way."

Sam snorted again, this time in surprise. He hoped she hadn't noticed that he had snorted twice in less than a five minute period.

"Well, um wow." He struggled for words but they just didn't come. Sam wasn't exactly mister ladies man. He usually left that for Dean, and maybe it was Dean's earlier mocking but Sam felt a bit emboldened. "Would you like to sit down?"

The woman's mouth widened into a toothy grin and her green eyes sparkled. She plopped down onto the plastic seat across from him and Sam Winchester closed his laptop.

"I thought you'd never ask."

"So, then I said, 'Look Johnny women love pirates. Not even a little eyeliner is going to change that, this is a great role and pirates are totally due for a comeback.' Dean had to admit he was laying it on a little thick but the broad was eating it, hook, line, and sinker.

"I can't believe you talked Johnny Depp into doing Pirates of the Caribbean, that's amazing."

After grilling the bartender about Bryan Davis's last night on earth. He had learned of the drinking contest but after that the bartender had lost track of him. She then wandered off to do her job leaving Dean with nothing concrete to go on. Dean had been ready to return to his brother but then a blonde had sidled up next to him and well it would have been rude to leave. He was currently relating to Kayla- or was it Shayla- about some of his _exploits._

"Yeah, well, you know he's a family friend."

Kayla/ Shayla was twirling a strand of bleach blonde hair and chewing on her lip. The lip chew was always a good sign. Dean took a swig of his beer. He felt that he needed to share this triumph with his little brother; he swung around on his barstool and nearly fell off it in shock.

At a booth in the corner sat Sam, at least he thought it was Sam, lost in a conversation with a woman. A _real live_ woman. He could only see her profile but they were both tossing their heads in laughter. Dean wasn't sure what was weirder, his brother talking to a girl or the fact that he was laughing.

Dean could hear Kayla/ Shayla behind him saying something but he had lost all interest in the girl he was now transfixed on his brother. Then Dean suddenly realized who Sam was talking to. It was the girl from the café, Dean's future wife in the Zeppelin shirt!

"Goddess…" Dean mumbled under his breath.

He turned back around on his stool and collected his beer and the unopened bottle he bought for Sam.

"Do you know her?" Kayla/ Shayla had picked up on the figure that had stolen the older Winchester's attention.

"No." Dean had already risen and moved away bar, "But I will.

As Dean approached the table he could pick up snippets of Sam's conversation.

"…you'll never believe what he called it, Brown Box Bettie!" Sam's punch line was followed by a new burst of chuckles from both him and the girl.

"What's going on here Sammy?" Dean interrupted placing the beer in front of his little brother.

Sam didn't stop laughing.

"Dean, there you are, we were just talking about you."

Dean didn't like the sound of that.

"We?" Dean slid in next to his brother and faced the woman who was wiping tears from her face.

Sam continued. "Yeah, we, Dean this is…"

Sam paused.

"Oh god, I don't even know your name."

"It's Lucy, Lucy Westen." The woman offered her hand to each brother in turn.

"I'm Sam and this is Dean."

"Sam and Dean." Lucy repeated. "Dean, Sam was telling me about Bettie, she sounds like a sweet ride."

Dean was horrified; his brother had decided to spill some of his deep dark embarrassments. He was never leaving the kid alone again. He started laughing nervously,

"Yeah, _ha ha_, so Lucy, didn't I see you at the Java Stop earlier this evening?"

Lucy lifted an eyebrow.

"Yeah, I got a coffee before coming to the bar. Were you guys there?" she asked.

Sam nodded, "Yeah I was kicking his ass at Scrabble."

Dean folded his arms.

"You were not kicking my ass."

"I so was."

"Well, maybe that's because you're a freak."

"Oh, Dean." Sam placed an arm around his brother, "You're are so pretty when your jealous."

Holy shit. Sam was showing off. Sam actually thought that he was going stealDean's future wife. Dean was shock, he wasn't sure why. Then he realized it, never in his life had he and his brother directly fought over the same woman. They both thought Scarlet Johansson was hot but sadly it was never an option. Honestly. It had never happened before. Perhaps, because the boys had such different tastes in women, but here was this women Lucy who embodied both of the boys fantasies. This was going to be a problem. This was of course assuming she could hold her liquor and enjoyed "talking about her feelings."

"I can't believe we've gone to the same place twice that is so weird. The world is totally getting smaller." Lucy commented. "Man sometimes I feel like we just rush through this life never really taking it all in, constantly coming and going.

Lucy paused.

"Let's get some shots."

She was more than perfect, she was psychic!

The brothers nodded in agreement.

Dean raised a hand and flagged down a barmaid and ordered three shots of Jack Daniels.

Sam cringed, "Dude, Jack, really?"

Dean smirked and threw Lucy a wink.

"Yeah, really," Dean said definitively. "Right Lucy?"

Lucy held his gaze.

"Jack is an old friend."

At this point the barmaid set three shot glasses on the table and proceeded to fill them up. She turned to leave and Dean placed a hand on her hip.

"Leave the bottle sweetheart."

Dean gave her his patented sex smile, it was a smile that in some rare occasion's actually managed to cause climax. At least, that was the word on the street. The barmaid complied and made a hasty exit giggling quietly.

"Do you often turn woman into giggling idiots?" Lucy asked at the departing waitress.

"It's just my natural charm, I guess." Dean said nonchalantly.

Sam snorted loudly, his beer nearly coming out nose.

Dean slugged his brother's leg under the table and Sam wasn't sure what to cater to first the Charlie horse or his burning nostrils

"Are you ok?" Lucy's tone one of concern.

"Yeah, ugh, fine." He managed.

"Besides," Dean continued ignoring his brother, "each Winchester has their own set of groupies, for me its generally good looking women like yourself and well the hillbilly gas station attendants love Sammy here. Like moths to a flame."

"Shut up man, that guy was fucking creepy." Sam mentally shuddered at the thought of the gas station attendant from the last town the boys had the misfortune to gas up in.

Dean let out a chorus of Dueling Banjoes.

"Shut up!" Sam repeated, punching Dean in the thigh under the table. "That happened one time."

Dean leaned forward rubbing his now sore leg.

"Actually it was two times."

This time Dean managed to block his brother's punch. Lucy just looked amused at the boys antics but stayed quiet.

"So, what do you do Lucy?" Dean inquired pushing a shot glass closer to her; Sam may have had the conversational advantage his brother wasn't going to make a move on her that easily.

"I'm a serial killer." Lucy deadpanned. Face stoic.

Dean and Sam were taken a back.

"What?" the boys chimed simultaneously.

Lucy didn't respond she just held their gaze the same stoic look on her face. It was really creepy. Was she serious? After about five seconds she burst out into laughter.

"I'm just kidding," Lucy laugh/ spoke, "I'm a personal assistant at a stock brokerage firm."

The boys joined in with nervous chuckles both still unsure what was going on, after all there original plans for the night was to search for a demonic killer.

Lucy lifted her shot glass in a toast.

"Here is to new friends."

Sam and Dean exchanged a look and shrugged.

"To new friends."

With that all three slammed the shot.

It was promptly followed with idle chatter and about four more shots.

The woman watched the boys cringe at the bitter liquid and was soon quickly lost in thought. So, her name wasn't Lucy Westen. In fact, Lucy Westen may have been her little joke. Wilhelmina Elizabeth Stewart, however if anyone ever called her that she would shoot them, a lot, she preferred to be called Billie. Billie enjoyed developing her little alias' and role plays at times the only time she felt normal was during the guises she donned while investigating cases.

Billie smiled at the shaggy haired youth. Sam Winchester had a good heart, she could tell, she knew a sucker when she saw one. Sam was obviously one of those bleeding heart, let's save the world saps, which made easy targets. Billie had spent the majority of her life faking normality; it made her remarkably good faking empathy and another myriad of emotions that often quickly and efficiently disarmed individuals like such.

Billie eyed the shorter brother. He was attractive with his rugged good looks and perfectly scuffed leather jacket, the type of man that a woman would hope to see at a bar. He obviously had decent taste in cars; she had found tailing the '67 Impala from the victim's apartment to this establishment. If Billie were capable of having emotions she was sure that he would have inspired a few. Not that the younger brother was completely unfortunate if Billie were a betting women she would guess that somewhere buried under the yards of heavy fabric that composed his faded hoodie hid a body she could do laundry on. At some point in the history of the world she was quite sure that a collective of females (or probably even some males) had suggested a _Winchester Sandwich_. Billie idly wondered what the progenitors of their DNA looked like; no doubt their mother and more importantly their father had been at least equally attractive. Then again Billie was a bit disenchanted with any opportunity to use the phrase, _that's not how your father did it. _Sadly, however, she wasn't going to be continuing this line of thought. This was business. Who were these boys exactly? They obviously had some knowledge on hunting, so it was a logical leap to say they were probably hunters themselves. Granted most hunters resemble a crowd from a Lynard Skynard concert but she could spot the type none the less. The two demonstrated too much skill in identifying demonic residuals at the crime scene.

Its not that Billie hadn't encountered hunters before- in fact, they often made her job down right impossible. She did not make it a point to fraternize with hunters due to the fact that there was always a possibility of meeting an untimely death when they discovered Billie's true nature. She hadn't exactly lied about killing people; she just didn't kill average people. She reserved herself to the possessed and all around evil ones. Like most hunters. Billie was not a hunter. Hunters considered themselves heroes, saving the world from the thing under the bed that the few people knew existed. Billie wasn't so disillusioned, she didn't consider herself a hero. She knew she was a villain, a monster, and nothing would change that.

It was all _His_ fault. Billie was sure that he was somewhere watching, seething, and waiting. Thanos, that motherfucker, he was always there, watching. Thanos had become Billie's own personal guardian dark angel, who had tempted her with vengeance which proved to too alluring for the sociopath. Billie had often tried to remember a time before Thanos, before her corruption.

She wasn't even sure why she had engaged in a conversation with Sam at all. She probably shouldn't have, she should have stayed off the radar but the words had came tumbling out of her mouth faster then her common sense meter could kick into high gear. It had been foolish. Besides it had probably put the two brothers on Thanos' radar which was never a good thing. Well, there was nothing to do about it now. On a positive note she now felt that she had grasped a sense of who these boys were and was pretty sure they posed no threat. They were too smitten with her act to suspect anything. She rubbed her finger on her gold chain around her neck in meditation, the crystal which dangled from it producing a rainbow on the table. She should leave, she shouldn't be here.

"Am I right…? Lucy?"

Billie's head snapped.

"Huh?"

Dean and Sam both pulled looks of surprise.

"Whoa, didn't mean to scare you." Sam said.

"How's space today? I hear it's vast." Dean quipped sarcastically.

"Vast, like your supply of cheesy pickup lines?" Sam mocked.

"Shut it." Dean snapped.

"Sorry." Billie began, "I just have a lot on my mind.

She really should get out of there. In fact, she never should have struck up the conversation in the first place it was careless. She all of a sudden felt very expose. She was worried that the boys were going to pick up on her nerves.

"_'Cause I'm back! Yes, I'm back! Well, I'm back! Yes, I'm back! Well, I'm baaack, baaack... Well, I'm back in black, Yes, I'm back in black!"_ It was Billie's cell phone giving an impromptu performance of an AC/DC classic.

She withdrew it from her pocket. It read Unknown Number. Thank god, Thanos must have read her mind.

"I'm sorry guys I really have to take this." Billie flipped open the cell phone and placed it to her ear. "Hello? Hello? I can't get you, no, I'm not getting any reception, hold on I'll go outside."

Billie smiled at the Winchester brothers.

"Be right back."

Billie hurriedly rushed out the side door of Deterioration.

Sam and Dean Winchester sat in stunned silence, unsure of what caused the young women's personality shift.

"Wow, zero to mood swing in sixty seconds." Mused Dean, "Still somehow hot."

Dean then turned to his little brother.

"Dude, what you think you are doing?" he demanded.

Sam was defensive.

"What? Wasn't it you that said I needed to expand my social skills?"

"Not with my future wife."

Sam laughed, "You're future wife? You and Lucy have nothing in common."

Dean pouted. "We have a lot in common, she likes Jack, is wearing a Zeppelin shirt, and she's hot. See plenty in common."

"The beginning of a healthy relationship I am sure." Sam retorted.

"I don't know what you're so smug about," Dean threw at his brother, "She's way out of your league."

"You say that now, but she talked to me first." Sam pointed out. "Plus, she called me the cute guy in the booth."

Dean had to admit, little bro had the advantage. So, far he had only managed to inspire what could almost be construed as a smile and a moment of uncomfortable sarcasm. Where as his freakishly tall socially inept sibling had managed initial contact and laughter. This struck him as severely odd what was going on. Was he being PUNKD? He was the ladies man; Sam was the voice of reason. That was the natural state of things and now it was as if the world stopped making sense. He had to fix this.

"Look man I'm going to hit the can." Dean said standing. "I got to piss like a racehorse."

Sam wrinkled his nose.

"Contrary to popular belief I don't need an update on all of your bodily functions." He informed.

"Your loss," Dean announced walking towards and through the door way to bathroom on the opposite of the bar.

Sam just shook his head. This was ridiculous; he knew he and his brother were bickering like children. It couldn't be helped. The majority of the lives of the Winchester brothers had been plagued with a healthy dose of sibling rivalry. The two had never spent so much time in close quarters and it was starting to take its effect. This was one of those moments. Why, why for once in his life couldn't Dean just let Sam get to have the win? Dean was always turning everything into a competition. It was aggravating.

Billie paced the length of a parking space determining what to do next. She could just leave. Standing up the Winchesters wouldn't be the worst thing she had ever done and she could get back to her investigation of the murders. Billie didn't like to be distracted and was very thorough. These brothers were definitely a distraction.

That was it, she would go, she would just leave and put this bar and the boys in her rearview mirror. Granted she had ridden to the bar on her Buell Blast and like most motorcycles did not have a rearview mirror but she wasn't going to mentally debate semantics. It leaned inviting from its parking spot beckoning her over with its shiny chrome. When Billie's father had died she and her brother had inherited a ridiculous sum of money from the estate. Her mother had died when Billie was four and Dad's latest arm candy hadn't been in the will.

Bro, Everett, decided to invest his share of the millions into a venture capital start up and was currently making his way down the list of bimbo pop-stars and was #21 on People's Most Eligible Bachelors list. Billie took her money and used it to disappear. To cut all times and fade into the background, in fact, in certain circles when someone asked "Whatever happened to Billie Stewart?" The common answer was, "I think she OD'd or something." That was exactly as she wanted it.

Billie dug a hand deep into her pocket and grubbed around for her keys. Loudly, Bon Scott began to whale about his color of choice and she abandoned the search. Billie took in the cell phone screen, it again read unknown number. That couldn't be Thanos.

"Interesting friends you make traitor." The voice was female and venomous and Billie immediately recognized it as Lilith. "They're going to be delicious."

There was a dial tone.

Son of a bitch, guess the night wasn't over yet. Billie Stewart took one last parting glance at her motorcycle and headed back towards the bar.


End file.
